Munson: Fair and its icons all eventually draw to a close

Each year, we mark the passing of folks who made this event more than an agricultural Disneyland

Aug. 18, 2012

Today is Robert Zagnoli's last day in action as a food vendor at the Iowa State Fair. Zagnoli, 90, began serving treats at the fair when he and his twin brother, Leo, were just 11 years old. / Christopher Gannon/The Register

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Iowans become so attached to our familiar State Fair characters that even the inanimate figures have a fan base.

“All these people who have been at the fair for years but aren’t alive — they should be talked about,” Jane Ferguson of Altoona implored last week when she accosted me.

“No one acknowledges them.”

Except her, that is. She posts photos of this cast of stoic fair icons on Facebook and encourages her friends to share memories.

There’s Matilda, the female mannequin who since 1980 has been seated in front of the switchboard in the former telephone office-turned-museum relocated from Harper in southeast Iowa.

Maybe you’ve spotted Norman, the 27-inch-tall man who for 87 years has cranked the saltwater taffy-stretching machine inside the stands now owned by Bill Oz. There are two Normans this year on the fairgrounds.

The original owner, Art Burke, posed for the mannequins in his likeness in part because he was tired of constant references to his own modest 5-foot stature.

The 4-H & FFA Sale of Champions on Saturday in the Cattle Barn was held without the presence of farmer and broadcaster Mark Pearson, who died in June from a sudden heart attack at age 54. A new stone memorial in front of the Grandstand lauds Pearson as a “champion of agriculture and rural America.”

And today will be your last chance to catch Robert Zagnoli in action as a State Fair vendor for an incredible 80 years.

Last week he parked his green golf cart next to the curb in front of his Zag’s Italian Sausage stand along the Grand Concourse. Ever so slowly, he swung his legs onto the pavement, clutched his cane and began a deliberate but precarious shuffle toward the booth to check on his workers.

He was clad in a full cardigan sweater on this balmy summer day, his face framed by large sunglasses and a red and white Coca-Cola ball cap. His swollen feet were wrapped in gray socks and sandals.

Zagnoli, 90, began serving treats at the fair when he and his twin brother, Leo, were just 11 years old. That was before the pair graduated from East High School in 1940 — Great Depression years that Zagnoli still remembers well.

“That’s where I first started having a popcorn stand over there,” Zagnoli pointed up the street to the spot in front of the Grandstand now owned and operated by a cousin. Decades ago, it began as a single popper beneath an umbrella.

Leo, who hand-built the two Zag’s Italian Sausage stands on the fairgrounds — the second located along Rock Island Avenue near the Iowa Craft Brew Tent — died from a heart attack in April.

“I sure miss him,” Zagnoli said. “We were going to sell out anyway.”

Zagnoli’s cousin, Chuck Dozier from Palos Hills, Ill., relaxed in the cramped kitchen of the Rock Island stand. Surrounding him was a shelf of Ragu pasta sauce, bags of onions and a pan heaped with green peppers.

“We’re all getting pretty old,” said Dozier, who is on the verge of 70.

“I’m in bad shape. I don’t know how Robert does it. That man is made of steel.”

I put the question to Zagnoli: Why keep slinging $4.50 sandwiches at the fair into his 90s?

“I’m a veteran of World War II and the Korean War, and I was in the infantry of both wars as a combat medic,” he explained.

So compared to stitching up soldiers on the front lines, hawking sausages at the fair is a breeze.

He couldn’t navigate the fairgrounds these days without the golf cart, Zagnoli admitted.

His “ticker” has endured five bypasses, and he has “a chest full of stents” to show for it.

He’s finally ready to sell the remaining pieces of his business.

“I haven’t set no price,” Zagnoli said. He’s letting bids filter in.

Successions on the fairgrounds tend to be familial, ritualized things. But purchasing Zag’s is far from a sure bet, according to fair officials. With new ownership, even an institution such as Zag’s must apply for booth space as a new vendor, said Rollie McCubbin, the fair’s director of concessions and commercial exhibits.

“There’s no automatic transfer,” McCubbin said.

About 100 food vendors operate some 200 food booths on the fairgrounds. And as many as 60 additional applicants are rejected each year.

McCubbin also explained how there’s a push for cleaner, flashier and higher-volume food stands to “keep the line moving.” Leo’s hand-built booths are “not up to the standards we’ve set up for all the vendors.”

McCubbin himself retires in December after his 15th fair and will be replaced by Mike Nye. It will be Nye, in consultation with fair manager Gary Slater and the fair board, who will make final call next spring on the fate of Zag’s.

Perhaps Zagnoli’s Depression-era style has been outmoded in our jumbo-sized modern fair food economy. He talked about how in his early years, he and his brother would hand out a bag of popcorn to each and every child in a family, no matter how many bags their parents purchased.

But when those same parents returned to the fair the following year, “they were in better financial shape, and they bought one for everybody,” he said.

Had the definitive State Fair film been from Frank Capra rather than Rodgers & Hammerstein, Zagnoli might have played a major role.

This charity-as-good-business ethic was handed down from Zagnoli’s grandmother. “No matter how much you have in this world, be it great or be it small,” she told her grandson, “always help others.”

This year marks a decade since the State Fair first hit the 1 million attendance mark. Maybe we should be wary about evolving too quickly into an agricultural Disneyland.

Here’s a thought: By next year’s fair, a prominent sign inscribed with the words of Zagnoli’s grandmother should be installed on the fairgrounds. Not just in honor of one family’s fair legacy. But as a reminder to all of us of what it means to be neighbors in Iowa — whether we’re bunched together on the fairgrounds or have scattered back home for another year.

Kyle Munson can be reached at 515-284-8124 or kmunson@dmreg.com. See more of his columns, blog posts and video at DesMoinesRegister.com/munson. Connect with him on Facebook (Kyle Munson's Iowa) and Twitter (@KyleMunson).